Two Paths
by flames.of.wonderland
Summary: An unexpected little girl finds her way to 221b baker street. and the pair grows resentful to letting her go. but when tables turn and unwanted faces re-appear sherlock and john must solve the one puzzel that Sherlock didn't want to know the answere to
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1:__**The Case of L'Enfant Perdu**_

"…and that, my friend, is why he can't be his real son. No son of a man like that would ever wear polyester. The questions is, who is he? And where is the real son?" stated the worlds first and only consulting detective. His excited green eyes darting every where. A coy smile played upon his lips displaying two dimples at each corner of his mouth proving his ivory complexion to be pale skin and not white porcelain. "Finally a challenge. Grab your coat, John. We need another look at that corpse," he said cheerfully as he slipped a leather glove snugly over his left hand to match the one on his right. He was wearing his usual navy blue scarf tucked neatly into his half buttoned up black trench coat.

Quick as a flash he was down the stairs and out the door shortly followed by a very stunned John Watson who sometimes struggled to keep up with Sherlock on the rare occasion the detective was given a case worthy of curing his seemingly constant boredom.

Not many people knew him as well as John even though he had known him for a shorter time than any of the people in the police force who claimed to have worked with him and "lived to tell the tale". He was a strange, curious man who to any one else seemed to be drain of all emotion. All human emotions seemed to be tucked neatly away in the darkest corner of his simply brilliant mind. But to John it was different. You could see it if you looked hard enough, the excitement in his eyes while he stuck the severed arm into the microwave carrying out another one of his dangerously curious experiments. You could see how he would be slightly upset when a case turned out to be too easy for him and how he was the tiniest bit angry when a victim was lost. You could see the way he would immediately turn into a child when a murder case was deemed to be too difficult for the detectives sat down at the London station. Watching him practically dive into the back of the taxi reminded John of a six year olds first trip to Disneyland. The emotion was there - how did people not see it? Maybe a small fragment of Sherlock's accurate radar had rubbed off onto John, which made it all the more exciting to live with him.

Sherlock and John were heading to the closest café to Baker Street. They both seemed in desperate need of a cup of tea after solving a particularly difficult case. They would have headed straight back to 221b if they hadn't run out of milk. The small copper bell sang as the door of the café opened. Sherlock and John entered, greeted by a wave of heat and the comforting smell of coffee being brewed in the kitchen at the back of the café. The atmosphere inside the café was thankfully unlike the one outside, where the cold autumn wind brushed harshly past their cheeks turning their pale skin shades to a rosy pink. Now inside the only indication of cold weather outside was how the wind whistled and howled ever so softly at the window almost like whispers. Though the whispers were easily drowned out by the extraordinary explanation of how Mr. Holmes had solved the murder case in less than two days.

"It seems so simple now. Obviously a classic drugs-related murderer. The powdery substance on his collar, which they thought to be pollen from the bushes he was found in, had obvious traces of cocaine in. This man just didn't want to be involved with that kind of group anymore. He was a doctor. He thought he deserved better money than blood money. But getting out was the hard part for him. However, being a doctor gave him access to most things - medicine, patient's files, even birth certificates. He used the birth certificate because it was a form of ID that seemed reliable and didn't require a picture. If he was that mans son he would have simply used his own ID - a passport or drivers licence or at least the original birth certificate. Judging by how new the paper was, I'd say the certificate we found in the victims bag was printed two months ago."

"You mean it was a duplicate?" asked John.

"Yes – probably paid for over the internet."

"So what did he do after getting the certificate?"

"He was going to run. Probably abroad – not too far though. Maybe France – definitely western Europe. He wasn't going to leave anything behind, especially not his fiancée who got caught up in all of this as well. He left her a coded message. They obviously found it and…"

"They?"

"Whomever he was running from. They found the message before his wife could and got to him before he could open his mouth."

"But he didn't want to tell anyone. He didn't want anyone to know just as much as the rest of them – he would have lost his job, his wife, everything."

"Unfortunately for him, they didn't know that and they weren't taking any chances. And fortunately for us," Sherlock said his eyes sparkling with uncontrollable excitement, "the whereabouts of his real son is still a complete mystery – an unsolved case."

Luckily for John who was simply wearing a jumper over his thin shirt, it was only a short walk back to 221b Baker Street. He had no scarf or big trench coat with a wide collar to protect his cheeks. He gazed at his friend envious of the fact he was toasty warm under that thick coat.

"You know you can always go out and buy one," said Sherlock casually not even turning his head to look at his cold friend.

"But then we'd match and I'd have to spend all my time telling people I'm not your boyfriend."

"If you want to suffer that's fine but winter is on its way, my dear Watson. Don't die of hypothermia. I'll have to talk Mrs. Hudson about giving me my skull back."

They reached the front door of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock fitted the key into the socket and turned, resulting in a small 'click' indicating that the door was now unlocked. Walking quickly upstairs two steps at a time they reached the second floor in seconds. However, what they saw inside was to John a mystery, but Sherlock deduced the identity from a single glance. It shocked him. How was this possible?


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:__**From France, With Love…**_

"Who's the ten year old?" asked Watson as he stared at the sofa in the front room, where Mrs. Hudson and a young girl were both sat.

"She's…twelve, John" replied Sherlock still in shock his eyes not diverging from the girl on the sofa.

Her hair was the same dark brown as Sherlock's and in messy ringlets that were bunched up and tied behind her head, a few stray curls dangled beside her face. Her skin was pale though dark grey dirt patches could be seen on her cheek and jawbone. She was short and looked young enough to pass for an age below 12. Her eyes were a mix of both grey and green resulting in a misty deep shade; they were fairly narrow but rounded at the top and bottom. Her nose was fairly long and small at the edges leading down to her slightly pouted reddish lips. Her complexion was flawless though she possessed the look of a broken porcelain doll left outside alone in the autumn cold.

Sherlock knew much about her now. He knew some one had sent her. The way she looked upset and heart broken indicated she had no choice but to obey. She loved who ever it was and shared a strong relationship with them, which indicated she came from a broken home where her and the one who sent her had to stick together to get through it. This had also taught her to be quite strong - strong enough to survive a 2-month journey. She had been sleeping rough as she carried a damp sleeping bag that currently sat next to her feet on the floor. She was very thin and looked under fed. The fire was burning opposite them but the wood looked barely burnt showing she'd arrived not too long ago as she was, of course, still shivering. Her features were scarily similar - there was no other explanation. Sherlock hadn't expected this. Sat in front of him was his daughter.

"Oh, there you boys are. We've been waiting for you for…"

"An hour, I know," interrupted Sherlock, impatiently.

Mrs Hudson opened her eyes a little wider an inhaled, preparing herself for her next sentence, "This is…"

"I know who it is Mrs. Hudson. By the way, we appear to be, yet again, out of milk. Please be a dear and go get some," Sherlock interrupted yet again. Mrs. Hudson knew when she wasn't welcome. She swiftly stood up, picking up her tea tray, and quickly made her way upstairs.

Sherlock edged slightly closer to the sofa not sure whether he should shake the girls hand by way of introduction or not.

"As you already know, I'm Sherlock…" he put his hand out then in one quick graceful movement replaced it by his side, "…Holmes. Umm, I suppose I should know your name too."

"Sorry, I'm a bit – no – I'm completely lost here," John took Sherlock by the arm and lead him to the window. After glancing over his shoulder he lowered his voice, "Sherlock, who is she?"

Sherlock spun back round," Well, the thing is… how can I explain it to someone with your mind?" his eyes jumped around the room, back and forth between the girl and John a few times before he said, the slowest he could," She's my daughter."

"What? I didn't know you had a daughter, Sherlock."

"Well, clearly, my dear Watson, neither did I," replied Sherlock, a little exasperated.

"Well, how?"

"Well, John, when a man "loves" a woman or gets horrendously drunk in the company of one, things start to head in a certain direction and…"

"Whoa! Sherlock! You know what I mean," John interrupted quickly.

"Well – and I know this rarely happens – I don't know the answer!"

"Ahem – I'm still here," the girl blurted out from across the room.

Sherlock, clearly reluctant to speak or even look at the girl, stayed completely motionless with his back to her next to the mantelpiece. John's eyes flickered between Sherlock and the girl for a few seconds until he gave him one last look of encouragement. When Sherlock showed no signs of progression and looked away from John to stare deeply into the jar of offal sitting on the mantelpiece, John let out a long sigh and headed over to the sofa. He sat down beside her before quickly jumping up after feeling his phone vibrating him his pocket. He swiftly took it out and looked at the text he'd just received. Mycroft – again – still worrying about his little brother who won't answer his texts himself.

After putting his phone on the coffee table he looked up at the girl, "Right, I'm John Watson."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I gathered that," replied the girl, "How's your sister Harriet?" she asked, clearly showing off and you could tell by the little grin that grew on her face she knew she was spot on.

Sherlock slowly turned round, revealing a small smirk, which he was obviously trying to hide by turning down the corners of his mouth.

"Well," John began as he looked up at Sherlock, "She's definitely yours."

"I'm Melanie. Melanie Ediker. I was sent here to get your help," she spoke up - her voice softer and less confident than before.

"I know," said Sherlock walking slowly towards her. "It's Samantha isn't it?"

"My mother, yes. She's been falsely accused of murder. She's in prison and said you'd help us." Her voice grew more emotional. It was as if she was telling someone a relative had died.

"Ah, false imprisonment - how interesting. But we're working on a something else at the moment. Missing-persons-case – it shouldn't take long though," and with that Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen.

"My mother doesn't go to court until next month so… do you think you'd be able to help me before then?" she almost shouted. She sounded desperate and her eyes looked towards the kitchen in hope. There was no answer for a brief moment until a slowly spoken "Maybe..." was heard from the other room.

Melanie sighed and sunk back into the sofa. "It's better then nothing, I suppose," she whispered.

The room fell silent until the sound of footsteps and creaking wood could be heard as Mrs. Hudson came walking down stairs holding a white plastic bag.

"Melanie dear," she began, "I found these for you to sleep," she held up a long gown, "You look ready for a nice, hot shower. I can put your clothes in the wash ready for tomorrow. I know you don't have much of – well, anything really. Neither did we when we were little we had to make our clothes…"

"She's not staying in this flat is she?" said Holmes in disbelief as he popped his head out of the kitchen.

"Well, where else do you suppose she stay? She's twelve - she can't get a hotel room," Mrs. Hudson replied harshly, annoyed at the fact he would even consider not letting his own daughter stay for a few days or so.

"But I can't do experiments all night if I know _she's_ here," Sherlock murmured.

"You just said yourself you'll be doing experiments all night. I'll be out of your way if you let me sleep in your room," Melanie suggested. Sherlock didn't want this particular guest 'making herself at home'.

"NO. Sofa!"

"You can have my bed Melanie. I'm going to go and see Sarah – I'll stop at hers," John sighed. He decided to get out of there before they both blew up the flat with him in it. Mrs. Hudson could deal with it.

"John, no! You can't leave me here with..." he paused as he looked over at Melanie. "…Her," he finished with desperation plastered on his face. He did not want to be left with a child; especially not one he needs to take responsibility for. "Besides," he added, "I thought you didn't like the lilo."

"The sofa. He sleeps on the sofa," corrected his Melanie as she rolled her eyes.

"All the more reason to go - I haven't tried out the lilo yet. See you later," and with that, John grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair and was out the door.

Sherlock's cheeks were red, his lips were pressed together into a thin line and his eyes seemed to have adapted a burning stare.

"Well, I'll set the shower running shall I?" said Mrs. Hudson walking past Sherlock to the bathroom. A small smile began to grow on Melanie's face as she followed the landlady.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The blackness of the sky coated the city of London in shadows and drained it of colour replacing it was shades of dark greys and navy blue. A tall man paced his apartment living room wondering how he could possibly be confused. He'd never been confused; he'd made so many deductions in his life. He'd absorbed the information, he'd taken out what cannot be possible and had been left with fact no matter how bizarre it was fact, simple, the facts link and the answer then stared him straight in the face, yes he'd always have an answer. But now for some reason he couldn't access his thoughts as easily as before and it irritated him so much. Yes he had the facts yes he'd linked them together but how, how was it possible, it couldn't be. Either that or he just didn't want it to be factual. It was unnerving to know that a girl that belongs to him was sleeping in his flatmates bed. He was a dad? No he can't be she's lying. But Sherlock can always tell when people lie and it can't be coincidence anyone who had the features and characteristics of two people who had "done it", had to be their child. She had the determination of her mother and the accurate intellect of her father. But when it came down to it as far as Sherlock was concerned she was indeed an accident. So did that mean he didn't have to try?

He fell into the sofa he was at a dead end. He didn't know weather to dislike this girl or not. The way she just had to swan in at this time was plain weird, the way she looked like a younger girl version of him was weird, the way she knew it was the sofa and not the Lillo was weird. She is weird!

A small shuffling came from behind him and it came to his attention he had been thinking through all of this from dusk to dawn the sun had risen, its bright light leaking through the crack in the curtain. Now he was very angry, look at what she'd done, her being here had distracted him from conducting his 'important' experiments, what a burden she had already become. The shuffling was made by Melanie's feet; she shuffled into the room rather than walked as she was too tired to pick her feet up off the ground. Her hair was a tad mangled but silky and wavy as she had washed it yesterday for the first time in 2 months. She was wearing a thin white strappy top that looked wavy with a few frills round the bottom and lace on the top, along with a pair of white shorts made of a soft material. They both looked old fashioned, never something she would pick out her self but as Mrs. Hudson had little choice, it had to do.

"Morning Sher-"

"You're so weird!" shouted Sherlock, his thoughts turning into spoken words.

"Says the man who was engorged in a very loud conversation with a skull last night" she shot back at him obviously offended at his outburst and wanting revenge.

"Will you keep it down, I only just got it back from Mrs. Hudson" he whispered harshly, his eyes now wide and cheeks burning red.

"You stole it", she sighed crossing her arms.

"No I didn't", he replied defensively, swiftly picking his skull up off the coffee table and tucking it under his arm in his blazer.

"Yes you did or you wouldn't have told me to keep it down" she said quickly, walking round the sofa towards Sherlock, "give it to me".

"No" he replied quickly and walked to the other side of the sofa.

"Don't _make _me get it off you" she threatened her eyes narrowed into slits as she gazed at Sherlock who stood at the opposite end of the sofa.

Quick as a flash Sherlock ran to the kitchen followed by Melanie who jumped over the sofa and nearly onto his back, she just missed and briefly lost sight of him as ran into the other room, quickly getting back onto her feet she darted into the kitchen followed him right round the table nearly knocking over a few test tubes. By the time she'd got out she heard Sherlock's bedroom door close with a bang. She ran up to it and gave it 3 great bangs with her tightly clenched fist. "Come out of here this instant or…oh my goodness! That's it!" she sounded. She slowly turned around with her back to the door proudly displaying a smug grin on her face. With an intake of breath she let out her golden sentence. "Mrs. Hudson!" she called. Faster than her mind could react the door behind her had opened; a pale tense hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her inside the room slamming the door shut behind her. One hand was held tightly over her mouth the other round her waist to stop her from moving.

Sherlock sighed deeply, he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Please", and with that his pride was gone, destroyed in less then five minutes by a twelve year old girl. Melanie stopped struggling and looked up to see a desperate face staring down at her. She exhaled as best as she could and nodded. After letting go of the child Sherlock quickly darted to his bed were he had hidden his skull under the quilt covers. Melanie watched him gobsmacked that he took the time to stroke its forehead. After turning to open the door she looked back at Sherlock.

"Fine, have fun with_ Yorik_", she said sarcastically and left.

"I think you'll find his name is Benedict", he shot back.

Melanie entered the kitchen to make her self a cup of tea; she filled the kettle and put it on the boil. She made her way round the table of chemicals and flasks filled with colourful liquids. She calmly moved the jar of eyeballs out the way of the tea bags and took the milk out of the fridge being carful to avoid the severed head that sat in the middle. There were no wide eyes, no second glances, and no questions as to why his kitchen looked like a mad scientist's laboratory. Sherlock who had placed 'Benedict' on the mantelpiece now leaned on the door frame with his arms crossed and closely observing.

"You don't mind my experiments then?" he asked casually.

"There perfectly reasonable, although to avoid anymore accidents with your microwave I suggest you lay a plate over the bowl of eyeballs, it will stop them popping" she sighed inwardly half smiling.

"Of course I know I should do that but then there's no explosion, no smoke, and no unhappy john to tell me off and keep me entertained, I get board quite easily" he smiled.

Melanie let out a little giggle, her eyes on the floor.

"There's not much to do at home, mother buys me puzzle books but there all so predictable", she sighed.

"I do agree, as dull as breathing in my opinion" he smiled as he exited the room to throw him self upon the sofa, reaching over to the coffee table and picking up a small cardboard box, removing two pads.

Melanie's eyes suddenly filled with excitement and curiosity. She watched intently as he peeled the thin paper off of the back and stuck them both to his arm, letting out a small sigh.

"Could I try one", she asked hopefully.

"Of course not you're far too young!" He frowned.

"Twelve and three quarters!" she shouted back in a persuading manner.

"Go help john with the shopping. I'm busy", he said as he places both his hands together, resting the sides on his chest and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.

"He's not here", she whined and just at that moment the sound of the front door slamming shut rung in her ears. She looked at the door then back at Sherlock in confusion. Sherlock opened one eye and a smug grin crept upon his lips.

"You'll learn Melanie, in due time".

Melanie let out an annoyed huff as john stumbled through the door carrying four white plastic shopping bags in each hand. His keys held between his teeth and mumbling something incoherent is if he was being gagged and was desperately trying to scream for help.

"What?" asked Melanie.

John spat the keys out of his mouth and they landed with a clank onto the wooden floor along with the many other various bits and bobs Sherlock had littered the ground with during his past experiments.

"I said could you put the kettle on".

"Oh…it's just boiled I set a cup out for you" she replied slowly as she turned on her heels to walk into the kitchen. John followed and placed the shopping bags on the floor as Sherlock had not left him any room on the table.

"Sleep well?" he asked as he began filling the pantry with baked beans and tinned tomatoes.

"Very well thank you. Judging by the neatness of your room I assume you're a solder" she replied slowly as she picked up the kettle and began pouring the water into the cups, her wrist shaking slightly as the weight of the water and kettle proved to be a tiny bit to heavy for her.

John let out a small chuckle. "Yes and army doctor, you're not quite as fast as Sherlock I see".

"I'm only twelve I'm trying my best".

"Smartest twelve year old I've ever seen", complimented john trying to make her feel a bit more comfortable as he was afraid Sherlock's resentfulness would lead to insulting remarks.

Melanie had finished making the tea and dropped the tea spoon into the sink next to her; she picked up her cup and turned to exit.

"How many twelve year old's have you seen?" she asked her tone slightly dark highlighting it was a rhetorical question. After that she exited the room and made her way upstairs back to where she had slept.

John eyes were widened he was slightly taken back by her sudden mood change but then remembered she was Sherlock's daughter and would indeed possess some of his characteristics, perhaps she was a high functioning sociopath in the making. He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to finish unpacking the shopping.

After he'd finished unpacking he picked up his tea and slumped back on his chair, switching on his laptop and setting his cup down on the coffee table opposite him. He glanced over at Sherlock who was still laid on his back with his hands clasped together and eye's lightly closed.

"You could at least try to make an effort Sherlock" sighed John beginning to get quite irritated by Sherlock's lack of compassion towards his own child.

"Why? What could that possibly achieve" Sherlock said not bothering to open his eyes or even look like he's listening.

"Sherlock, you her dad" replied john in disbelief.

"And that means what exactly, john?"

John let out a long sigh, he'd given up hope. Sherlock was a genius but his emotions were hidden far to well. Well enough to make Sherlock forget he even has any. Did he really consider the definition and meaning of father so unimportant it didn't deserve a small space in his mind?

"Look it up. You can find a lot on the internet these days".

And with that the room fell into a deafening silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: uncle mycroft

The silence was unnerving. John seemed to have no choice but to sit still and keep silent. He'd tried watching day time television, but it disturbed Sherlock's thoughts. He'd tried updating his blog, but typing irritated Sherlock. He'd tried reading but according to Sherlock he was reading too loudly in his head. He'd tried writing but the pen scratched the paper too much, he'd simply tried thinking about how he was going to break the news of 'holy crap Sherlock has a daughter' to his blog readers, but somehow even that was too loud, and so that was the last straw he pulled himself up from his chair, flung on his coat and was out the door slamming it shut behind him. A small triumphant smile crept upon Sherlock's lips, he was finally alone, well that's what he thought until his mind sadly reminded him of the small burden of a child who had the audacity to step foot into his world of important study's and deductions.

John had been gone for an hour now and Sherlock was beginning to wish he'd let him carry on with what he wanted. At least he could have kept him slightly entertained and not left him alone with a child he had no intention of showing any form of positive attitude towards. The small bang that came from above him caused him to crash down to reality, there was indeed a child upstairs, there was _his_ child upstairs, and these certainly weren't the early months of owning the flat with just him and john. Ignoring the strange noises coming from above, Sherlock decided to blank her out of his mind completely making it easier for him to carry on with… well something not Melanie related, yes that was what he was going to do. Something that concerns no children whatsoever. 'Mission no parental or child relations' was now in working progress and would stay that way until he could solve a simple minded puzzle and have her leave. Now just to think of something to do. He was already bored enough to create silly immature missions and tasks in his mind, things were getting desperate. Precisely 16 minutes and 26 seconds later Sherlock was ready to explode. If one more bump came from upstairs interrupting his important brainstorming he swore he was going to scream.

He glanced over at john's laptop that he'd left switched on since yesterday night.

'_Look it up, you can find a lot on the internet these days'._

Sherlock sighed in annoyance as he picked up the laptop, rested it on his knee and double clicked the internet symbol. Well desperate times did call for desperate measures. He asked Google the meaning of the foreign word 'father' and thus 'mission no parental or child relations' had crashed and burned before it had even begun to take shape.

Sherlock's POV.

Father: a person who has originated or established something. A man who exercises parental care over other persons, a male parent, or (and this is my favourite) a title of respect towards an older man.

Evaluation of information gathered: I have indeed originated and established many things, I do not however exercise parental care over other people though I do have quite a lot of power I do not enforce it, it's not that much of a necessity to me. Though shouldn't this information mean I already I am a father? In fact doesn't that make Mycroft a father? How strange but interesting nonetheless, why have I not gone by this title before.

Conclusion: in conclusion I believe Power is not a necessity and though it would be nice to have a title that stands for respect I believe it is mostly used as a title for priests and parents. I do however believe this Melanie girl upstairs could learn a little respect for me from this title. From now on she will address me as so. Things should go well from here.

Objective: earn respect from those and others around me by adopting the title of father.

Side note: rub your findings and deductions in johns face when he returns home.

Narrators POV.

John had nothing to do; he'd stormed out in such a rush he had not given himself a chance to consider were he was headed. He eventually decided to sit down and rest on a nearby bench in Bart's gardens. The garden was still as the busy Londoners were all either inside or in central London. It was rare that john got to enjoy the peaceful side of his life were he wasn't running round London after taxi's following Sherlock's internal GPS. He worried for Sherlock, being his only friend was hard, he was always wrapped up in cases with Sherlock and, always lounged round the flat with Sherlock and, when he was at Sarah's or working at the surgery he'd get called away from it to attend to Sherlock's 'needs'. Why he couldn't just try to get along with his daughter he'd never know, surly he has some form of fatherly instinct, or could see they had things in common with each other. Just looking at her you could see she was basically a smaller version of Sherlock. She had his piercing greeny-grey eyes and his crystal white skin, not to mention his abnormal ability to document every single fragment of your being and dissect it until they have your life story. Well she almost had it; she was certainly on the right track, but still a bit slow and to think, Sherlock was once like that. That last thought made john chuckle to himself.

John's thought bubble was quickly burst by the sudden vibrating of his phone in his pocket. It was another text from Mycroft.

_Get in the car john MH_

John sighed, he knew exactly was going to happen. Mycroft was going to kidnap him for an hour or so and talk to him about his and Sherlock's new room mate, then drop him off a baker street and when he got in, Sherlock would be texting Mycroft telling him to stop kidnapping his 'friend' or he'd tell 'mummy'.

John looked to the side of him and at the entrance to the gardens, there sat and black Audi with door open.

John slid into the back closing the door behind him, and there next to him sat Mycroft's undoubtedly beautiful assistant tapping away on her shiny blackberry, lord knows what she was up to on that thing, controlling the country as Mycroft did, or was she simply playing Tetris to keep her self occupied after all she did say she got a lot of free time. A moment of awkward silence past until john finally spoke up.

"Anthea isn't it?"

"Hmmmm... Emily today" she replied not taking her eyes of the blackberry screen.

"Right" john nodded in fake understanding.

The trip to Mycroft wasn't as long as his first trip in fact it seemed that a fancy car and Mycroft's assistant wouldn't have been needed as they stopped only down the road. It was indeed walking distance.

They stopped outside a tall greyish building; it wasn't nearly as rundown as the last building where he'd first met Mycroft Holmes. It was far more suited to his powerful yet mysterious character. To john, Mycroft was shallow, proud and materialistic, yet he was efficient. He couldn't really complain about him after he'd played a significantly big role in helping him and Sherlock escape certain death from Moriaty.

He was told by 'Emily' to go straight to room 28 on the second floor. The building inside looked very formal yet slightly old fashion, it had a dark overcast feel to it. There were pillars of wood with detailed carvings of ivy twisting round them and portraits of famous kings and lord's imbetween shelves of gold rimmed vases and busts. The echo of John's footsteps seemed amplified in the silence making him feel he was alone, to him it did look like a place where all men in formal suits were hidden away inside their offices. He reached room 28 and before he even had a chance to knock on the great wooden door Mycroft had already opened it and stepped aside granting him entrance.

"Ah, John take a seat" he said waving his hand towards the wooden chair placed in front of Mycroft's unnecessarily large desk. John sat down as did Mycroft on his much bigger much more comfy looking chair. He lent forward resting his arms on the desk in front of him. For a moment the only noise that filled the room was the dull ticking of the great grandfather clock that sat in the shadows at the back of the office, which was quickly drowned out my Mycroft's deep voice.

"John. It appears that you have acquired a new…smaller resident into you're flat, and it also appears that said smaller resident is of blood relation to the Holmes's family. Care to elaborate?" he asked, staring at John intently.

"Well there isn't really much to tell. She arrived yesterday evening and has been here since then" John finished, he really didn't know what to tell Mycroft, he assumed he probably knew most of it.

"Yes, your right I do know most of it, what I appear to have missed is the child's name".

"Melanie" informed John.

"Ah, yes, of course. Melanie my niece" Mycroft murmured to himself. "Must have come as an awful shock to dear Sherlock I presume?"

"Yes, he does seem quite resentful".

A smug grin grew upon Mycroft's face. "It also comes as a shock to myself, but an awful one. Never".

"You like her?" asked John.

"She's my niece John of course I do and indeed she is on her way to becoming a fine, intelligent young lady" smiled Mycroft.

"I didn't know children were really your area" said John in slight disbelief.

"Their not. But Melanie however is family and also possesses mine and Sherlock's observational gift, yes this one needs guidance and if Sherlock is as resentful towards her as he portrays himself to be then I will happily fill in for him".

John simply nodded his mouth hanging open slightly. This was going to take some serious getting used to.

"Is that all you needed me for?" he asked.

"Oh no, one moment", Mycroft opened a draw next to him and took out a white shoe box with a shiny blue ribbon wrapped neatly round it, with a delicate bow on top, a small pink envelope was stuck to the side. "Would you be so kind as to pass this onto her for me, thank you ever so much".

John took the box. His eyes were wide and his gaze switched from the gift to Mycroft multiple times before Emily popped her head round the door.

"It's time for me to take you home Dr. Watson" she smiled.

John nodded stood smiled slightly at Mycroft who gave him a wide Cheshire cat grin in return, and thus John was on his way back to baker street carrying an unusual package in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Melanie trudged down stairs with her empty mug in her hand; she was fully dressed in the clothes she had been wearing for the past two months now. A Pair of denim shorts complete with red and white knee high socks, she had her old brown school shoes that she hated with every molecule of her being, but they were the strongest shoes in her tiny wardrobe and for such a long journey they were indeed the most sensible option. She wore a black and white stripy t-shirt under a blue thick jacket. She looked like a normal teenager but her elegant yet expressionless features proved her to be far more grown-up for her age. Her features were still and lifeless except for her eyes that flicked from one side of the room to the other exploring each and every nook and cranny in the area, she was going to squeeze every bit of information out of this apartment if it was the last thing she did.

Placing her mug on the side next to the sink she noticed her father out of the corner of her eye sprawled dramatically over the entire surface area of the small sofa in the living room. The nicotine patches had gone from his arm yet left two square shaped red marks to prove they did once accompany his being. He looked peaceful almost asleep he nearly fooled Melanie into believing he was asleep, but for a man who had just recently removed two nicotine patches from his arm, and by the looks of it had recently forced Mrs. Hudson to make him a cup of tea (the great Sherlock Holmes finds the instructions for a simple cup of tea irrelevant to his studies), she figured he was probably just wallowing in self pity. After all he had just driven his pet out of the apartment and now had nothing to do. Melanie found this dull and stupid, if she was such a burden to him that he couldn't conduct his experiments last night then why not now while she was out of his way and he had far too much spare time on his hands. Foolish indeed, she was going to remind him of that.

Letting out an exasperated sigh she spoke up. "Sher…" but was once again rudely interrupted.

"No" Sherlock had shot up from the sofa and was shooting her a burning stare. "According to you must address me as father".

"Father?" she asked. Now this confused Melanie, why would he want her to call him father after all if he didn't like her then why would he want her to be his daughter. Surely he would drive her and himself far away from the title.

"Yes. You need to learn respect. So… father now" he said sternly. Then let his head loll back against the arm of the sofa.

Melanie did not argue, in fact she practically jumped for joy at the idea but perhaps not for the reasons others might.

"Tea father?" she asked with a bright smile on her face as she began to fill the kettle with water.

"Two sugars, no milk".

Fifteen minutes later John returned home handing the white shoes box over to Melanie and wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he immediately jumped off the sofa as if he was sitting on burning hot coal.

"No, I refuse to let you accept this…this joke!" He shouted pointing at the box as if it was Anderson sat on her lap.

Melanie's eyes narrowed. "Well at least uncle Mycroft is making an effort", she spoke darkly.

"Uncle Mycroft?" he asked, now incandescent with rage. "You're just going to accept a gift from a man who claims to be your uncle?"

Melanie glared at him, and raised one eyebrow. They stared at eachother for at least two minutes until Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed on the sofa in defeat.

"What is it?" asked John.

"White doc martins with royal blue laces" replied both Melanie and Sherlock in unison. John was slightly taken back by the fact they both replied in a split second of him asking the question. Though he did find it slightly amusing.

"Go on Melanie how do you know?" he asked.

Melanie smiled slightly holding her head up.

"Well if uncle Mycroft was kind enough to send a gift I'm sure he would have to know a little about me as to determine what gift to buy. Going by the British crest in the right hand corner of the envelope I assume he holds a high place in the British government, and perhaps out of a form of brotherly love he will use his power to keep Sherlock at bay and watch over him". Sherlock rolled his eyes, and narrowed them into slits as he stared at Melanie. "He must have seen me with Sherlock at some point and deduced who I am; I assume Sherlock's observational skill runs in the family. Going by what I do and don't have he must see I have one pair of shoes that I don't favour and that don't go with my only outfit, so there for: Shoes", Melanie finished with a smug childish smile plastered on her face.

"Also the box looks heavy as the corners dig slightly into your thighs and it's a white shoe box with a blue ribbon to match your gift…Mycroft always was a perfectionist" Sighed Sherlock in a board, ignorant tone.

"Well done" smiled John taking a sip of his tea. "That was brilliant".

"That's not what the people at school say" she replied and a straight tone.

"What do they say?"

"Freak", she giggled.

After an hour of sitting on the arm chair Melanie decided it was best to retire up stairs for a while, going by the expression on johns face she could see he had questions. And so she took her tea and trudged upstairs in her brand new doc martins.

John waited for the upstairs door to click shut until he turned to Sherlock who was sat upright with his head rested back to face the ceiling. Before John could even speak Sherlock swiftly jumped one step ahead of him.

"You want to know how it happened don't you?" he asked, though it seemed more of a rhetorical question.

"Yes. Will you tell me?"

"There's not much too tell".

"Well. What was her name?"

"Samantha, Samantha Edikar"

"How did it… happen?"

"End of university party, I was never interested in social events at the university but as it was the last one I thought it would be amusing to go and watch all my peers make fools of themselves".

John found this curious. Is that really what Sherlock did in his younger year's just look down on people and laugh at mistakes no one but him would ever have spotted?

"So you went there to look down on people?"

"Precisely, I never thought I'd be one to add to their supply of mistakes", Sherlock sighed darkly.

John raised his eye brows. He realized this was something Sherlock had pushed right to the back of his mind. Was he really that ashamed of it? John knew his ego was big but he never knew it was so big that he wouldn't talk about his simplest mistakes, especially one that happened so long ago.

"Samantha was very sly, she knew when I had my guard down, She was a good actress too. But I didn't fall for her, I didn't fall for anyone, she just knew how to get me to accept a drink or...three".

"Oh", John sounded surprised at this. Was Melanie's mother really someone who could outsmart Sherlock.

"I was young, My mind wasn't as experienced as it is nowadays", he groaned as his head lolled back to rest on the sofa.

John couldn't help smirk slightly at the situation. He was slightly relieved. This story proved Sherlock to be just like every other man, He'd been out, got drunk, got laid, and is now facing the consequences. Sure it wasn't much but it was enough to reassure John. In the end Sherlock was only human.

It was at that moment that Sherlock's phone vibrated with a text from Lestrade.

'hand found washed up from France, a link to the missing sons case'.

A coy smile played upon Sherlock's lips. He shot up from the sofa and headed to the door.

"Perfect, a hand that's practically all we need, come on John", he called.

"er Sherlock. Pyjama's".

Sherlock stopped and spun round to face John. His smile grew wider.

"I'd be lost with out my blogger", and with that he was in his room, searching through his draws for clothes.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: he's seriouse.

Melanie ran down stairs and into the living room.

"where's dad going?" she asked quickly.

"St barts. He'd being summoned again" John replied flatly.

"Are you going?"

"Most likely".

"Can I come?" Melanie beamed.

Sherlock thrust open the door and shouted a quick, firm "no" at Melanie. He then strode over to the coat rack wear he began putting on his coat and scarf. John put down his laptop and did the same, slipping on his black jacket and gloves.

"But why?" Melanie whined.

"Because you'll get in the way, it's a mortuary not a playground", Sherlock sighed.

"But you can't leave me here, I'm too young to stay here on my own" she whined.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called.

"She's out".

Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at Melanie.

"Darling daughter of mine I trust you to look after your self for a mere couple of hours, please do not fail me and dishonour the Holmes family name". His angry sarcastic voice echoing through the empty apartment.

"You successfully achieved that with out my assistance!" She spat, folding her arms and staring daggers at her father.

"Now, now children", John sighed. He gently tugged on Sherlock's arm, turning him round so that both their backs were facing the girl.

"Look Sherlock I think you should consider bringing her along" he said quite enough for Melanie not to hear. Sherlock's eyes widened and he stared at John questioningly.

"She could learn from it", John suggested hoping that educating his daughter on a subject he's so fond of would interest him. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.

"OK, then imagine the looks on Donovan and Anderson's face when they discover there's more than one of you?"

Now this grabbed Sherlock's attention. Before John knew it Sherlock and Melanie were all ready down the stairs waiting impatiently for the doctor join them.

It was freezing in St. Bart's mortuary and Melanie was begging to regret coming with them, when she could have stayed in the flat were it was warm. The tops of her legs were her skin was showing began to grow goosebumps and little hairs were standing on end. But when she stepped into the lab and saw a single severed hand sat on the display table all the coldness was forgotten and replaced with a slight wave of excitement.

Lestrade and Anderson stood waiting with bored expressionless faces that quickly turned to curiosity the minute they saw the child enter the lab.

Though it seemed perfectly normal, Sherlock did indeed find it strange to see Lestrade in a mortuary. Surrounded by dead bodies did not come as a shock, but usually the corpses were fresh, clothed and certainly not about to be cut up and tested on.

Sherlock held back his smirk when he saw the stupidly confused expressions on their faces as Melanie followed them into the lab.

"Ah, Lestrade, very rare to see you in a place like this", he commented as he swiftly draped his coat over a near by table and picked up a pair of rubber gloves fitting them neatly over his hands.

"Yes, and it's very rare to see you being followed by a child. Care to explain?". His eyes not leaving the child as she copied Sherlock's actions. Draping her jacket on top of his coat and picking up a pair of rubber gloves.

Sherlock's eyes darted from Lestrade to Melanie for a mere second until a devious smile crept upon his face. Gliding round the table towards Melanie he snaked his arm round her shoulder and puled her into his side.

Melanie found the action surprising. This was indeed the first physical contact she'd ever had with her father. (Well the first positive physical contact). Though She enjoyed the sudden acceptance, she found there was something terribly untruthful about this. It seemed like a mimic of the famous happy family role playing game she enjoyed in her primary school years. Was her father acting?

Never the less she was hear to learn, to stay focused. She was not here to analyse the fake emotion behind her fathers embrace.

"This is Melanie, my daughter...She's come with us to learn", He smiled.

It took a few moments of Lestrade's and Anderson's eyes flicking from the detective to Melanie, for the detective inspector to finally crack a smile and speak up.

"Go on then Sherlock were did you pick this one up" He laughed. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes.

"Em... he's serious" John pointed out quietly, trying to let Lestrade keep some form of pride.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Highly involved

The shocked looks on Lestrade's and Anderson's faces simply added to the joys of the murder investigation. Their expressions stayed long after Sherlock had removed his arm from around Melanie, as did his devious grin. The whole ordeal had taken up quite a lot of time, questions such as: "did you pick her up off the street?" "Did you kidnap her?" "Is she adopted?", Were thrown round the room in a remarkable sense of panic. Most were answered by John as Sherlock was simply to amused and entertained by their stupidity to carry on speaking.

"But I don't understand", Sighed Lestrade frustratedly.

"I thought it was pretty obvious from the begging, after all we do have quite a lot of the same features, especially the nose. You must be truly stupid if you failed to pick up on that", Said Melanie slightly taken back by the fact they didn't grasp that when she walked in, you only had to take one look at her to understand she was Sherlock's daughter. She was a spitting image of him, and to think this man calls himself a detective inspector. "What must it be like in those empty little heads of yours", she sighed under her breath.

Anderson's eyes simply widened further. "She really is yours freak", He spat. The look of his disgust on his face was truly laughable.

"Anderson what are you even doing here?" asked Sherlock he really didn't see any need for Anderson's presence.

"I work here on occasion" he sighed, stepping aside to reveal a dead body of a man laid on a table at the back of the room.

Though the looks of childish confusion on their faces was wonderfully entertaining, Sherlock came here to solve a puzzle and to examine something that would test his intellect. He walked round the table to get a closer look at the hand, followed by John, Melanie, and Lestrade.

"Melanie, your here to learn...tell me everything you can about this hand", Sherlock said firmly not taking his eyes off the severed limb that sat in front of him.

The hand on the table was putrid. The skin had turned a sickly yellow and was flaky in places where the skin created creases and overlapped. Bits of sand and dust were trapped under the nails. The bone sticking out slightly from the wrist was now a dark grey and pink in it's cracks were blood had stained. There was a strange circular shaped scare on the wrist that quickly grabbed Melanie's attention.

"Er...He was wearing a watch and...it dug into him...hard as if someone had grabbed his wrist tightly and forced it to dig through his skin", she said.

"Correct Melanie, though it was the most obvious thing there" Sherlock replied in a flat bored tone, not even bothering to look at his daughter.

The exited flame in Melanie's eyes was immediately blown out and replaced with disappointment.

'Try harder Melanie' She thought to her self, trying to find some way of motivating herself.

Sherlock turned to her, displaying a small smirk on his lips.

"but, it was the most important thing there" he spoke.

'Well it's something' Melanie thought and so the exited flame grew back in her eyes as she smiled back at her father.

"Go on then Sherlock, what happened to him", Lestrade sighed, crossing his arms.

"He was murdered by two men. The muscles round the palm and fingers are very built up, he must work with his hands on a regular basis. This could suggest he was very strong which is most likely.

If he was this strong you'd need more than one man to take him down by hand, He was also cut up deliberately, the skin around the wrist is cut far too neatly. If his hand was missing by accident the skin would have been ripped." Sherlock ended his gaze never leaving the severed limb in front of him.

"How do you know he was taken down by hand" asked Lestrade.

"He was wearing the same watch as you Lestrade, or something very close to that model, and as you can see" Sherlock spoke as he took Lestrade's wrist and pressed down hard over his watch.

He let go and removed the watch to reveal a very faint reddish mark, it was circular and matched the one that was thicker on the hand. "It's a perfect match. Someone grabbed this man's wrist to keep him still, the second man probably had hold of the other wrist. But if he was wearing a watch like that then were would he work, I would suggest a farm or factory but an employee working there wouldn't waste money on watches like this. So some were in which he's paid large sums of money, some were that requires hand work, some were... illegal, perhaps this man was up to no good".

John crossed his arms and displayed a curious expression, "So if his hand was deliberately cut off and it just happened to be found and brought here does that mean-"

"Precisely John, someone wants us to find it", a small devious grin began to play on Sherlock's lips, until he quickly turned his head to Lestrade. "What relation does this have to the missing sons case?" he asked.

"Well that's the disappointing part, this is his son" sighed Lestrade.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment his gaze curious and uncertain, "and were did the limb come from?"

"France".

"Right I need all registered files of Bill Johnson and his fiancé, as soon as possible. Have them sent to the flat", and with that he was out the door, his coat melodramatically flying out behind him.

John had always noticed that time seemed to slow down when he entered the flat, it's dismal lighting and dull colours sucked all energy out of the room making John feel tired and eager to get back out onto the busy streets of London. Sherlock would sprawl over the sofa and stay there for hours in silence changing position on a rare occasion and plucking a few strings on his violin.

Once John had made three cups of tea he stepped into the living room to see Sherlock laid down on his back, gazing up at the ceiling and cradling his violin in his arms, plucking at the same string every few seconds. Melanie was curled up in Johns chair her blue jacket wrapped around her knees and her chin resting on top of them, she was simply gazing out of the window, the room was dull and silent save for the slow simple rhythm coming from Sherlock's violin.

It was at least an hour later when the case files arrived at the flat and suddenly life sprang back in to Sherlock, John and Melanie. It was as if a sudden bolt of energy jolted everything wide awake.

Pictures of notes, letters and bodies littered the coffee table and police files and scraps of paper flooded the desk.

Melanie disappeared a while ago leaving Sherlock and John to deal with the case on there own.

Sherlock found it to be a breath of fresh air, he felt like he was being watched and studied by someone constantly. It was increasingly annoying when Mycroft did it, but it was so much more irritating when the deed was being carried out by a twelve year old girl. Sherlock very nearly had an ounce of respect for John and those down at Scotland yard, who suffer from Sherlock's remarkable observations on a regular basis.

It wasn't long before Sherlock was on the computer searching through pages and pages of dead or murdered men in France. Preferably one with a missing hand.

He found it. There was a whole article about it, and it seemed to be big news in France.

"Gregory Mendel, age 23 found in the streets of Paris at 02:34 am on the 12 of October 2010.

Forensic scientists have found him to be brutally tortured and shot in the head before having his right hand removed, the were a bouts of the limb is currently unknown.

Police, and detectives are currently investigating On the 28th of December 2010 police arrested their first suspect.

Samantha Edikar aged 32 was arrested on suspicion of murdering Mr. Mendel. In questioning was found to be at the scene of the crime and is currently waiting her court case."

Sherlock stopped reading there.

"John, come here", he said emotionless, still staring at the computer screen in front of him.

John dropped the case files and obediently got up to make his way over to Sherlock.

His face turned to utter confusion when reading the article.

"I don't get it. Isn't Samantha Edikar Melanie's mum?" he asked as he turned his head to face Sherlock.

"Precisely. Now John is it me, or is it all coming together rather too easily".

"Should I get Melanie?" he asked point towards the stairs that lead to his bedroom.

"No, no. Lets see were this is going. But do remember John, Melanie may be highly involved".


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The atmosphere had suddenly become colder. It had been at least two hours since Melanie had left Sherlock and John to slotting the pieces of the puzzle in place. She had been drumming her fingers on the wood of the bed for an hour and half, thinking along to the small, simple rhythm she was mindlessly creating.

She had grown strangely fascinated by John. The way he helped, the way he'd take care of certain necessities and the way he'd always round off what Sherlock discovered and deduced. What fascinated her the most was the way he always hung around. He always seemed to be there. With welcoming arms or protective stance. His stern glare proved him to react quickly and think logically. She liked John Watson, he was like and uncle, or an old family friend, perhaps a godfather? He was someone Melanie could grow easily fond of. Though that was completely not the aim, it should be the other way round and with a certain detective. The detective that never came looking, the detective that couldn't care less, the detective that dared even think of acting in front of his colleagues for simple laughs. Well she'd get him. She'd get him for her mother, she'd get him for her and she'd certainly get him for uncle Jim.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter: 9

Sherlock's head was riddled with curiosity. What could possibly posses his own daughter to be involved in a murder case? A murder case that seemed to be revolving around him. What does she want? What is she aiming for? All Sherlock knew was that she was in some way involved in this. Maybe she was sent by someone. Perhaps she was just acting to get close to Sherlock, but why? Sherlock decided he'd have to fight fire with fire and beat her at her own game. It was the only way to solve this puzzle.

During the past hour Sherlock had been texting and John had been booking tickets. They'd planned it down to the very last detail. Oh how Sherlock loved been a step ahead in the game, his eyes we're already filled with a lust for action. Then both John and Sherlock heard the light footsteps of Melanie tiptoeing down stairs.

John couldn't help but crack a smile. He knew he was only out witting a twelve year old, and that thought seemed petty, but then his expression burned with pride when he remembered that the blood of a Holmes ran through her veins.

"Remember John treat her as if nothings happened, we don't know how she's involved yet" said Sherlock quietly. John simply nodded as Melanie wondered into the room and sat down on a near by chair.

"So any luck?" she asked.

"No" said Sherlock not bothering to look at her. "I think to truly solve this, we will need to carry on our investigation in France".

"We're going to France"?

"Paris to be exact" John answered, his eyes not leaving the computer screen as he was still tapping on the key board.

"Yes, and I've consulted Mycroft. He's taken the liberty in enrolling you into the international school of Paris" Sherlock informed holding his head high.

"Why are you sending me to school?" Melanie asked. And to think all was going so well.

"Melanie we can't possibly leave you here on your own we don't know how long it will take us to solve the case. And seeing as your twelve years old you may as well carry on your education somewhere close to us where we know you're safe" Sherlock finished with a smirk.

"But can't I just come on the case with you?" Melanie asked hopefully.

"Don't be ridiculous. you're a child, you're not old enough to investigate something like this, it's not safe".

"Since when did you care about safe?" Melanie shouted. Now this was really irritating her.

"Since my daughter showed up my doorstep. You will do as your told Melanie!" He shouted, and the room fell silent.

Melanie sneered, and gazed daggers at her father she'd been warned about his annoying sense of authority. He must have an audacious nerve to think he has even an ounce of power of her, well she wasn't going to be painted out the picture that easily.

"And what if I don't?" She asked, her teeth grinding together and crossing her arms.

"Then you're grounded" Said John firmly.

"fine!" Melanie shouted and with that she stormed out of the room and back upstairs.

Sherlock turned to John, his expression blank.

"John she'd already grounded what are you talking about?" looking up and down at John seeming quite offended.

"What do you mean she's already grounded?" John asked raising one eyebrow.

"Well considering both her feet were firmly planted of the floor, yes I'd say she was definitely grounded".

John chuckled to him self as a wave of pride washed over him. He knew something Sherlock didn't.

"Grounded, is a term parents or carers use to punish their children. It involves taking away certain privileges such as, watching TV, or going out with friends, maybe taking away their freedom. But only for a set amount of time say a week. Depending on what they've done" John smiled to himself, he was quite proud of his explanation.

"Oh I see...Brilliant" Sherlock replied. He quite liked the sound of this parental lark.

Two days had passed since Melanie had stepped foot into 221b Baker street and besides the trip to Bart's, she hadn't put another foot out. She spent most of her time in John's room, sometimes popping down stairs for the occasional cup of tea and on one occasion, food. That was when John went to the shop to buy edible things. Things that weren't acidic, moving and/or purple.

It was Friday today and exactly a week and three days until they left for France. Melanie was sat at the table playing with Sherlock's laboratory equipment and seemed to be taking great interest in the outcome of mixing certain acids and solvents together. She was waiting for John to finish making tea so she could go back upstairs and carry on pondering the corners of her developing intellect.

"I'm going out won't be long" called Sherlock as he tightened his blue scarf round his neck.

"where?" John asked walking out of the kitchen becoming suspicious. Sherlock was never "not long" and he would certainly never specify how long he was ever going to be when he did go out.

"Shopping" he replied hastily.

John couldn't help but let out a little titter. He couldn't ever picture Sherlock pursuing daily tasks, it was like trying to picture a dog walking on it's two hind legs.

"for France" he specified hoping that it would put an end to the patronizing giggles. And it did. Johns amusement turned to curiosity.

"You already have everything you need".

"It's not for me" Sherlock sighed, his eyes glancing in the direction of his daughter.

And so John's amusement was back mixed with a little surprise. "So you're going shopping to buy things for Melanie?, Why?"

"Because John, by leaving her with nothing to wear she will resort to using other things such as your jumpers or even worse my blazers" Sherlock sneered. "Besides Mycroft gave me a list so it shouldn't be to difficult and while I'm gone keep and eye on that" he whispered harshly pointing a finger in the direction of Melanie.

John merely smirked and wondered back into the kitchen leaving the public to deal with Sherlock's antics for once.

The tea had been made and John set the cup down in front of Melanie. She set down the test tubes and was just about to pick up her tea and leave when John hastily stopped her.

"Wait a minute" he called as he set his tea down on the table and took a seat across from Melanie.

She stopped in her tracks and sat back down.

"I'd quite like the talk to you about a few things after all you have just popped up from out of the blue and with you being of such close relation to Sherlock I think it would be best if we actually got to know each other".

Melanie frowned a little, she looked slightly protective over herself. "OK then".

"So you seemed unhappy that we were sending you to school I thought a girl like you would enjoy school".

"Well I do...sometimes. Depending on the teacher and the subject. Biology and chemistry are my favourites right now, but they'll be angry at my when I go back"

"Go back?" John asked. Now John didn't need to be a high functioning sociopathic detective to figure this one out. "So you're already enrolled in that school and you didn't tell them you were going some were. I'm sure we can explain to them" John reasoned.

"They already hate me enough there. Things have gotten a little out of hand lately" she smirked.

"Care to tell me what happened?"

"It's a long story".

"I've got time".


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The town centre was buzzing with the never ending sound of modern society. The contrast of the public's muddled voice and the deafening sound of taxi's, buses and cars pounded in Sherlock's eardrums. Though humanity's industrial music was least of his worries. The question "what should I buy for my potential criminal mastermind of a 12 year old daughter to take to France?" Didn't quite fit in with the usual questions that filled his brain. Questions such as "can cyanide be used as a fertilizer when mixed with other substances?" Or "what would happen to the human brain when set in different liquids for a chosen period of time?" Or "were did sally Donovan hide the eye balls when I specifically told her to put them back in the microwave?".

So from his pocket he pulled out the list Mycroft gave to him. Unfolding the paper the first thing he saw written was "underwear". Well this was going to be awkward.

"PHAHAHA, so go on what happened then?" asked John eager to hear the rest of Melanie's story.

They were still sat at the table and she had been telling him all about her time at home and school. The conversation started of slightly tense though quickly turned into something quite pleasant.

"Well it basically ended up with me legging it down the hall throwing anything I could find in my path to slow her down, and she was running at my like a rabid cat screaming "you ruined my marriage" the rush of it all was invigorating so I ended up trying to get the same rush out of anything I could deduce".

"and how did that end?" John asked still laughing slightly.

"well it got me in an awful lot of trouble but it was defiantly worth it. Mum says I have a habit of running into things without considering the consequences" she replied happily.

"Sherlock's like that".

"I think my uncle might have taught me to be like this. Well that's who mum blames"

"I didn't know you had an uncle"

"Well he's not my real uncle he's a close family friend. He helped us through a lot, we live in a bit of a bad area".

Right at that moment Sherlock practically fell through the door in a heap of navy blue trench coat and all manner of different sized shopping bags. Sherlock truly could be childish when he wanted to.

"Did you get enough stuff then Sherlock" The doctor asked with a wide Cheshire cat grin.

"Too much" Sherlock shouted back at him as he swiftly got up off the floor and all but threw himself upon the sofa. "May I ask why Melanie isn't in her usual place?"

"Her usual place?" John questioned.

"Well she's normally in your bedroom John".

"Yes well we were having a little bit of a chat. Weren't we Melanie" John smiled.

"Yes. We were talking about my days in school" she smiled.

Melanie went to pick up all the shopping bags wondering why Sherlock had been to places like M&S and Top shop.

"Dad, what are all these?"

"Clothes...for you, courtesy of your dear uncle" Sherlock was clearly in a bad mood and so John decided to switch the kettle on once again, he mused that he did little else.

"So did you get everything on the list then?" John asked, his recent chat with Melanie had put him in quite a talkative mood.

"List?" asked Melanie though her curiosity was quickly disregarded as Sherlock had other things on his mind.

"John do you know what a balcony bra is" he asked with his head resting on the arm of the sofa and his hands clasped together.

"Well no and I don't-"

"And did you know girls have boxers"

"I've heard there more for-"

"As much as I'm starting to like Uncle Mycroft I'm finding it a bit strange how he knows my bra size" said Melanie as she lifted a black bra out of the M&S bag.

"Melanie put that back and take them upstairs, put them all in a suitcase or something we're leaving soon" said Sherlock harshly, then closing his eyes to try and block out Melanie's pointless chit chat, he much preferred it when she was sat in Johns room, keeping quite.

"I don't have a suitcase" she stated, whilst struggling to fit all the shopping bags on her little arms.

Sherlock's eyes shot open in frustration as he loudly exhaled, "John get her a suitcase".

"You'll find a big black one under my bed Melanie, you can use that one" John replied stirring the cups of tea.

As the hours past the flat became more quiet and calm. John was called away to the clinic a little short of an hour ago and Sherlock had taken to his experiments. He was a little annoyed at the fact his test tubes had been tampered with by a small twelve year old girl, though the acid and solvent mixes were strangely impressive. He'd done them before when he was fourteen, it was when he found his first series of data that actually interested him.

"Melanie!" he called, and soon enough her footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.

"yes"

"What on earth is this?" he asked holding up one of the test tubes.

"I was separating acids and neutral compounds by solvent extraction" She said quietly, her hands held behind her back and her eyes glued to the floor.

"Well for starters you've used far too much carboxylic acid, come on sit down I'm not having my own daughter not know basic chemistry".

A wide smile lit up Melanie's face. Finally she was getting somewhere. She sat down next to her father and listened intently as he explained the and demonstrated the experiment.

After a small while Sherlock and Melanie moved to the sofa they'd left the test tubes and Bunsen burners to clutter up the kitchen table while they stacked papers upon papers of equations and formulas all of which inspired Melanie to know more. Though as the sun set her eyes began to disobey her orders to keep them open and observant.

It was hours later when John had finally returned home with milk and other grocery's. Upon entering the flat he was more than a little surprised to find Sherlock and Melanie sat side by side on the sofa...sleeping? Sherlock's head rested on the back of the sofa while Melanie leaned against his left shoulder. Coming to the conclusion that it would be best not to deal with the awkwardness of waking them he decided to make his tea and finally go back to sleeping in his own bed for to night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

it was just the screaming now, the constant screaming of Samantha ringing in my ears it was so loud and I couldn't see her.

Were was she?

Was she hurt?

Was someone hurting her?

I listened for some form of understandable speech but before I could make out anything it had stopped.

The black and the silence crept around me like it was hungry like I was it's pray and as I ignored it as best I could. all I could do was listen for a sound for any indication that I wasn't alone.

And then I heard it, it was the faintest whisper of Melanie's voice and I didn't understand what she said.

I listened again concentrating harder on her words. Her voice was getting louder and louder and so full of desperation and hurt.

"DAD? DADDY FIND ME!"

But for gods sake I couldn't...I couldn't see a damn thing! I screamed! I screamed for her to let her know I was there and no sound came from my mouth and as hard as I tried as hard as I cried only her scared voice could be heard! Only that until-

I was thrown back into reality with a sudden jolt. The flat had become very warm and I could feel the uncomfortable sensation of sweat on my forehead. I noticed the small frame of Melanie on the sofa leaning against me. Should I refrain from draping an arm around her shoulders? From pulling her just a little bit closer to reassure her that I am here. I wont be here all the time. And I'm not to sure if I even want to be here all the time, but for now I will be. I'll be here with this child that's mine. This little annoying 12 year old burden is mine and there is nothing on earth that can make that change.

I never really had something that was mine they were usually hand downs from Mycroft, or shared with John, or stolen from Bart's. But right now, right at this moment, she was mine. She was here in my arms for me to pretend that there was no potential betrayal, that she had no other place to go. Just until the sun rises I'll have a heart big enough for Moriarty to burn.

Narrators POV:

Sherlock snaked an arm round Melanie's shoulders and put his feet up gently laying down so his head rested on the arm of the sofa, he gently pulled Melanie down with him letting her head rest on his arm. For the rest of the night he just seemed to gaze at the wall occasionally letting his eyes drift down to look at Melanie.

Melanie's eyes began to flutter open as her sleep finally came to an end. Though upon arrival into consciousness she found that she was somewhat encased in something warm. so rather then get up and wander round a cold flat she thought she'd much rather stay here, were she was warm. It was only when her brain caught up with her that she figured out what the warm thing wrapped around her was. His breathing was steady and so she assumed he was sleeping which made her feel a little better. She wasn't going to lie to herself, being wrapped in the comforting warmth of her fathers arms after 2 months of travelling and sleeping rough, alone, was in her opinion one of the best things that happened so far. It was pleasantly different to her mothers embrace and certainly more comforting than uncle Jim's, so she thought she may as well enjoy it while she can and so closed her eyes and snuggled slightly deeper into her fathers arms.

Ten days had past since then and Sherlock had started to not mind Melanie's company. Sometimes he would engage in semi intelligent conversation though on other occasions he really couldn't stand her. He found Melanie's potential genius much like his own at her age and teaching her on some things usually ended positively.

Melanie found her fathers company very enjoyable. His genius was very much unlike others though very much like uncle Jim's, she could see why Jim thought of him so much. She found that she enjoyed having a father. The experience contrasted so wonderfully with her mothers.

Not only did she have Sherlock but she had John as well. He provided so much more safety and it always felt good to return to a bit of normality after being in the company of her father. She really would miss them when she went back.

"Melanie we're going to be late will you hurry up" called Sherlock from down stairs. It was early in the morning, far too early for Melanie's liking and they were leaving for the Eurostar to get to France. John was currently holding a cab and Sherlock was waiting impatiently at the front door. Melanie was currently struggling to get a black suit case almost as big as herself down from Johns room.

Five minutes later Sherlock couldn't handle it any more, he was just about to call for her again when he heard Melanie's angry foot steps stamping down the stair case towards him. Carrying...nothing?

"Suitcase is upstairs" She angrily sneered at Sherlock as she stormed passed him and got into the taxi.

John, watching from the cab window had sworn he'd never found so much happiness in watching his flat mate not only being semi controlled by a 12 year old girl but also, struggle so much to get a big black suitcase down the stairs and into the cab.

Sherlock gracefully slid into the car and slammed he door shut. "I'm not helping you with it again, and it's your own fault for filling it with so many clothes" he angrily stated before anyone could say anything.

"It's your own fault for buying me so many clothes to put in it" She shot back as she folded her arms and faced away from Sherlock.

It was an hour until they finally boarded the Eurostar at St Pancras station and all three of them were tired and hungry. They'd sat down at a table on the train with John and Sherlock sitting together on one side and Melanie with a whole two chairs to herself.

The train smelt of sweat and coffee, it was warm and strangely pleasant, the way the atmosphere seemed to surround Melanie was quite cosy. She'd put her feet up and was idly nibbling and picking at a chocolate croissant, while gazing out of the window. Sherlock being as lanky as he was had proved to the world that he could easily fold his body to fit on one small chair, his knees were up to chin level and he was using them to rest his hands on while he tapped away on his phone. John was reading the paper and had laid out some back up magazines in front of him just in case his paper got boring and of course he had bought him and Sherlock two cups of coffee, which sat barely touched in front of them.

Melanie...was...bored. So ungodly bored, this train was boring, Johns magazines were boring, this silence was boring and she had nothing to do except look at things, she had very well seen and observed everything in this cabin, so she decided to do what any normal 12 year old girl would do. Ask questions, ask lots and lots and lots of questions.

"When do I start school" she asked Johns head glanced up from his paper, he seemed a little stunned by the fact that some one was talking in such a quiet cabin, Sherlock just seemed annoyed.

"Next week" Sherlock replied coldly and then swiftly returned to his phone.

"where are we staying?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "Bradford Elysées hotel".

"Is it a nice hotel?"

"not likely" he sighed.

"how far away is it from school?"

"15 minutes and 22 seconds if you walk fast".

"why aren't we staying in a closer hotel?"

"...because Mycroft paid for this one, no will you kindly keep quiet" he scolded.

"But I'm bored" Melanie whined.

"John sort her out" he huffed.

John, looking like a dear caught in headlights suddenly widened his eyes and turned to Sherlock.

"Well what am I suppose to do?"

"I don't know entertain her" he said hastily "I'm too busy".

"Dad? Why are you angry?" Melanie asked. She thought her and her father were on good terms now but he seemed so resentful towards her today.

"I'm not angry I'm busy!" He scolded. And so Melanie reclined back into her not so blissful silence for the rest of the journey.


	12. Chapter 12

Plain white, with a golden frame in the middle, which decoratively out lined the chandelier that hung gracefully from the ceiling. Smoothly painted, not a crack or speck of dried paint could be seen. Not a chip of gold paint had worn off the frame; that means it was lined with gold leaf. Well it was a five star hotel after all; uncle Mycroft would only get the best. Melanie felt she'd stared at the ceiling long enough and rolled over onto her side, her back facing the wall her single bed had been pushed against. She was facing the two other blue and white sheeted beds. They seemed to catch more sunlight than hers did. They were just opposite the French windows that Melanie had opened earlier when John and Sherlock left. She wanted to let more air in and found it more relaxing to watch the silky blue curtains flutter in the breeze rather than have everything remain motionless.

Sherlock had claimed the bed next to the window while John was left with the bed next to a table with leaflets and tea and coffee making equipment on it, just behind the wall it was pushed against was the bathroom. On the door of the bathroom were 3 blue dressing gowns, and Melanie had helped herself to one which she used as a fluffy blanket.

The floor had been covered up by a sea of girls clothing that looked to have exploded out of her black suit case. John and Sherlock had left a couple of hours ago and so she decided she'd try on some of the clothes that Mycroft had ordered Sherlock to buy. She hadn't actually had a good look at them yet, for the past ten days she'd just settled for her normal stripy top, shorts and knee high socks. But in the mountain of new stylish more mature for her age clothes were actually very fetching. She had found, and dressed herself in a white lacy top with embodied detailed flower patterns and a comfortable red checked shirt that she wore over it with no buttons done up, she ditched the shorts and took to a pair of blue skinny legging like jeans. The material was all good quality it was soft and comforting. But that was a while ago and she'd been laid on her bed now for about an hour and a half. She was starting to wonder why John and Sherlock weren't back yet. On the way out John had hastily said to her "don't worry Mel we won't be long". Melanie liked John's nickname for her 'Mel'. It sounded so friendly and familiar, and she was sick of formalities.

Another half an hour later and Melanie had made herself a cup of tea and sat out on the balcony. At least there's a little more to look at. She could see the Eiffel tower and all the people surrounding it, mostly tourists. After finding about 7 different short cuts from her school to her home and visa verse she began to get a little annoyed at being this high up, if she was further down she could see the people better and she could try and do what Sherlock did, she wanted to be as good as her father so she needed practise. Uncle Jim did the same but in all honesty she didn't really like Jim, he'd scare her sometimes when mum wasn't around. And of course mum hadn't been around for almost three months and that was when Uncle Jim started acting stranger. Since mum became a suspect for a murder committed not all that long ago, Melanie found that Jim was only person she could turn to, she didn't have any friends or known family and Jim said exactly what her mother said, "Get Sherlock". Apparently he was the only one who could help and also he was looking into the case which connected to the murder victim so it only seemed logical. Though it was when she found out Sherlock was her father that curiosity began beat against her brain. Mother was the only person Melanie had who was of blood relation and since her mother had been arrested she had found her father and her uncle. Her real uncle. In all honesty Melanie adored this whole experience. She was half glad that her mother had been arrested; she had found a family, a slightly dysfunctional, obsessive compulsive, overly protective family, but a family none the less.

That made Melanie smile and then came the sound of the hotel door opening and closing, and two voices. Two oh so familiar voices that made her smile wider. Oh how she wished and wished that she was allowed to get used to those voices. Well she may as well make the most of it while she could. She and Sherlock had gotten quite close over the past couple of weeks and he was her father so does that mean she needs an excuses to hug him. Couldn't hurt to try. And so she set down her cup, unfolded herself from her chair and peeked into the room to see Sherlock and John struggling to make their way around the hoard of clothing strewn across the floor. Melanie wandered in stepping on the clothes not giving them a second thought and flung her arms round her father burying her face in the warmth of the navy blue trench coat. "You were gone ages", she mumbled. At first Sherlock didn't know what to do and stared at John for some form of answer. John merely shrugged and smiled and made his way over to the table to make tea. After a slight intake of breathe Sherlock wrapped his arms ever so lightly round the child, it had been ten days since their last hug and she wasn't even conscious back then. "It wasn't that long Melanie. It was only a couple of hours and you can take care of yourself, can't you?" "Well yes, but I was bored" she mumbled again, and broke away from the hug. "Were have you been?" she asked.

"We were just down at the mortuary. We needed to take a look at Gregory Mendel. Scotland Yard seem to have sent the missing hand over to go with the body and I think I may soon be able to prove that Samantha is not the killer".

"So she'll be out soon?" Melanie's eyes gleamed with relief and excitement.

"Yes" Sherlock confirmed and ever so slightly turned up one corner of his lip. Melanie on the other hand was beaming with joy and happily swooped in for another, tighter hug.

The sun started to set as the clock drew to the late hour of nine pm. The Paris streets outside seemed to get busier as families, couples and tourists got ready to visit the restaurants, and bars. This all made the hotel quieter. Melanie had already gone to sleep, she had been awake for too long, this morning she was woken up at 5 am and the excitement of her mother's release from custody had sucked all the energy out of her little body. She was tucked up in the bed at the bottom end of the room, her tiny curls released from the black bobble she used to tie them back; they hung slightly down her cheek and toppled over her shoulder.

John had been switching from reading and updating his blog while occasionally getting up to make tea, he'd been so wrapped up in what he was doing that he hadn't seemed to notice that Sherlock had been sat out on the balcony for about 3 or so hours. Though when he did look over to him he began to study him, just merely pondering the man's existence and what was going on in that giant mind of his. The notion of him acting like this didn't come to a shock, of course since he started living with the man he'd often be still as a statue and as quiet as a mouse when he was thinking about something. And he was thinking about something 90% of the time. The other 10% was used for eating and sleeping, unless he was thinking while he ate. Ok, he was thinking 95% of the time. Unless he was thinking while he slept, and knowing Sherlock that's probably something he'd do... Sherlock was thinking most of the time, though usually in the space of three hours he'd say a little something. Just a small 'make me tea john, milk two sugars". Or even just a quick complaint about how bored he was. But he just seemed to sit there, outside in the cold and the temperature was dropping as the sun did, so John being John took it upon himself to order the stubborn detective back inside, before he caught a fever of some sort.

So setting down his lap top and stretching up off his bed he strolled over to the balcony doors, being careful to walk a little quieter past Melanie's bed. The door opened with a fairly loud click and Sherlock didn't even flinch. Though Melanie did and John glanced back at her to see her shuffle and turn under her covers before settling back down again into what seemed like a dreamless sleep.

Two white chairs were set out on the balcony; they were very pretty, with swirling bits of metal connected to each other, forming patterns and shapes of flowers and leaves. And of course Sherlock occupied one of them; he sat with his knees up to his chin, his arms were folded and sandwiched inbetween his chest and his legs, he hadn't taken his coat off since he got back from the mortuary.

"Sherlock, are you coming back inside, you've been out here far too long" said john lightly.

Sherlock merely sighed; he didn't even look at John he just kept staring out into space. So John took it upon himself to take the spear seat next to him.

"What's up Sherlock?" he asked, slightly sympathetically.

"Whatever led you to believe that something was wrong?"

"Well you've been sat in the cold for three hours and you haven't said a word".

"On the first day we me I told you that sometimes I don't talk for days on end"

"Then we started living together and you began talking every couple of hours, so come on tell me what's wrong".

Sherlock was busy mulling over what to say, how to say it. He knew what was wrong, though he didn't feel all that confident admitting it.

"I'm not sure if I really like all this parental lark anymore" he sighed.

"I thought you and Melanie were getting along, you certainly have some sort of bond" John said comfortingly.

"I do John, why? She's irritating and strange and arrogant, why am I starting to love her so much?" he sighed, his voice filled with regret.

"Sherlock, we're only human. We're just another animal. We're programmed to have a natural bond with our children; we love what we've created. And I know you enjoy having her around. So what's the problem?"

It took Sherlock a little longer to reply though eventually he sighed and told john trying to hold back any hint of emotion. "To no surprise, Samantha's innocent. Melanie will have to go back to her mother soon".

"I see" said John lightly, he'd almost forgotten about her mother and about the fact that Melanie lives across the channel. He'd grown so fond of her that he hadn't really wanted to remember she had a home to go back to, which made him feel a little selfish. "You're her dad Sherlock. Her mum can't stop you from seeing her, especially if Melanie wants to see you".

John managed to see the corner of Sherlock's lip turn up slightly. Neither of them said anything for a while until John finally got out of his seat. "I'm off to bed. You will come inside at some point tonight won't you?"

"Sure" Sherlock muttered in such a quiet voice that John had to wonder if he even said anything at all.

6:00 O'clock! 6:00 O'clock in the bloody morning! Why now? John never could quite fathom the reason why Sherlock insisted on playing his violin at 6:00 o'clock in the morning, (occasionally earlier). Of course Sherlock knew that people, in hotels especially, slept at 6:00 o'clock in the morning and John never expected Sherlock to take others into consideration, but it was the fact it was every morning he would play his violin. Now Sherlock never was one for routine. After all, the only thing predictable about Sherlock was his unpredictability. So why can't he practice at a different hour, preferably one that won't get him killed by the holiday makers in the next room.

John wouldn't mind if Sherlock was playing properly. He usually plays such beautiful melody's that are, in all honesty, quite pleasant to wake up to. But this time it was as if he was dragging a sheet of sand paper over the strings of the poor instrument. Why on earth was he playing like that?

John listened intently to the noise, trying to deduce why Sherlock was playing so terribly. Perhaps he was still upset about Melanie's departure. Or maybe he was just having one of his mood swings and wished to unleash some bottled up anger out on something. It was only when John heard the sound of a little girls voice that he was gladly reassured that it was not Sherlock playing.

"Ugh...dad I can't do it!" Melanie whined, letting her arms drop limply by her sides, the bow in one hand, ever so slightly brushing the floor and the violin hanging loosely in her other hand.

"Melanie, it's not all that difficult. I would have mastered the damn thing by now" Sighed Sherlock gently running circles round his temples.

"I'm trying my best" She huffed.

"No you're not. You're slouching. Come here" With that he placed his hands on Melanie's shoulders lifting them up and back slightly and bringing her left arm up so that the violin was positioned gently between her shoulder and chin. "Now try to keep this wrist straight, it allows more movement for your fingers". He ordered, smiling slightly.

"My fingers are too small anyway" she sighed.

"They'll grow Melanie, just be patient".

"Oh...morning john" Melanie smiled.

"Yes good morning" he replied hastily. Tiredly easing himself upright. "Can you not practise later?" he asked as he stumbled out of bed to make his way over to the bathroom.

"Well their letting Samantha out today, there won't really be any more time" Sherlock replied a little flatly. John stopped in his tracks, remembering last night's convosation and turned to smile at both Melanie and Sherlock. "Of course" he said, "carry on", and with that he disappeared into the bathroom locking the door behind him.

"How does mothers release stop me from practising violin with you?" asked Melanie once John had gone.

"Well, you'll be staying here with your mother, and once I've closed this case I'll have to go back to England" he replied his expression now unreadable. So unreadable that Melanie didn't know if he even cared or not.

"Well can I not see you at all?" She asked hastily, her and her father had become quite close, she didn't want to go back; she wanted to stay here with her dad, her uncle Mycroft, John. She'd only just found her family, she can't leave now.

"Well can't I come and stay at yours sometimes?" She asked hopefully.

Putting his hands on his hips and looking down he sighed, "I highly doubt your mother would approve"

"But –"

"Also I'm far too busy to care for a child, as is John and there would be no room for you in the flat anyway". He didn't even look at her. He just kept his head down. Looking at his feet, the ground, anywhere but at Melanie. He was so quiet, not saying a word. Melanie stood watching him, waiting for him to say something or do something. Anything to indicate he wasn't serious, that he was joking or lying. She didn't want this to be the last time. He couldn't leave her, not again. Because she knew deep down that when he left he would not come back for her. He wouldn't dare come back, he wouldn't even want to.

She couldn't let him leave. She just wanted her dad to stay and then she remembered her and uncle Jims deal. He said to bring her Sherlock and in return he would get her mum out of prison. But of course now her mother was out. Maybe, just maybe if she brought him Sherlock, in return she would let her see him. Regularly. He could give her a father, rather than her mother.

Upon thinking this Melanie quick as a flash dropped the violin startling Sherlock as it made a rather loud noise of wood, strings and various notes clashing together. And in the time it took for the noise to be made Melanie had swung open the door and dashed out into the corridor. All Sherlock heard next was that swift pitter patter of Melanie's feet as they ran down the hall until the hotel room door slammed shut leaving the room empty, silent and free of all former happiness.


End file.
